Doctor, Thyself
by Rodlox
Summary: PostMichael, Dr. Heightmeyer mulls things over.


title:Doctor, Thyself.

author:Rodlox.

coda to:Michael.

POV:Kate Heightmeyer.

spoilers:Michael.

warning:I let my Heightmeyer muse get a bit verbose.

**----------**

It hit me when he mentioned it. I never said anything about it to anyone else, didn't see a reason to. It was trivia, obscure knowledge won through a lifetime researching everything.

On Earth, there's a deep-seaworm called _Riftia_. They have a stomach, yet have no mouth. They live where humans can't.

That was the only thing that came to mind when Michael said he had an emotion he couldn't understand, couldn't describe, couldn't pin down. It was a hunger.It was _the_ hunger.

And did I help him? Oh no, I kept on walking the path I'd started on two weeks earlier. I couldn't stop to think.Didn't stop to think. Wouldn't?

I don't know about that, but I _do_ know that I did nothing. I didn't voice an objection to the project, to his treatment, to his therapy. Not even to that, the very thing where I'm the highest authority in Atlantis, and I, his psychologist, helped everyone but him.

_God._

_Those who forget history..._

I never forgot. But it slipped my mind that history can repeat itself in ways subtle enough to sneak up behind and club us over the head. And hope we're paying attention.

I watched the monitors, the footage. And John's voice is repeating an endless refrain in my mind: "and we'll do everything in our power to stop them."

He and Teyla call the Wraith evil. They forget that doing evil to stop evil...is still evil.

Do Athosians have that moral statement in their philosophy? I should check. Someday. Not today. Nor tomorrow. Someday.

Michael. My fault.

I should have said something, anything -- put a stop to the project. Carson blames himself, but I saw his enthusiasm for using his retrovirus. I was the last gasp of hope, and I held my breath.

We changed the man's _species_, and we were relieved when amnesia was the only effect. Maybe the amnesia gave us hope, kept me quiet -- if he could become human (again?), and suffer no ill effect, then we stand a chance at winning. If he'd had trauma, even partial memories, I'd like to think I would have voiced an objection, try to get the project shelved. But, as it was, no trauma; just amnesia.

God. I watched a man slide back into a Wraith's mindset, listened as he spoke of growing hunger, of his aggressive instinct. I couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't move. Just listened, even when he leaned in close. Soaked up every word he uttered. Couldn't help it. My ears were bigger than my brain.

Not the first time I've been an idiot. But the most damaging. Not for me; for Michael. I can walk away. He can too, but he'll carry the scars of all he's been through here in Atlantis. Every betrayal, each false friendship, all the assumed trusts, his false past. Which pangs hurt him the most, I'm left wondering.

At some point, any moment, I should have said "That's enough"...or at least a "stop"...

They kept asking my opinion. And the ivory tower academic in me had the voice to answer, had the guts to reply. The rest of me...couldn't. Did I want to? That's not a door I'm eager to open. I know I have to eventually.

God.

How did I let Jack O'Neill talk me into this? Oh, yes, the "she'll need your help from time to time" iscussion, egging on my ego. Well, that bubble has sorely burst. She needs my help okaying her little projects. This all started after Daedelus showed up.

Is it their fault?Great, now I'm transferring any and all blame onto a ship . . . and it's crew. And what it represents.

What? What does it represent? A lifeline to Earth? Certainly not -- not with the stepping-up in projects and what can only be called a certain ruthlessness in achieving aims now. Is it from knowing that, should all fail here, we can go back to Earth? We wouldn't necessarily be faced with the relics of our actions every time we look at the sky at night.

Only when we look into a mirror.

One would think that this new side of Elizabeth Weir would have appeared if the Daedelus hadn't shown up in our skies, if we'd managed to fend the Wraith off ourselves. Then our struggle for survival would have been that much more a fight on our hands, something that a little ice in the veins would help with from time to time. From time to time, mind -- not now and for always.

Is it compensation? Working to prove that she's capable? A year leading us through thick and thin, through luck and hardships, wasn't enough for her? She needs to prove her mettle's enough to whatever God put the Daedelus in at our eleventh hour rescue.

Michael was recent. Are there -- will there be others, more projects to come? What will we do next? How many objections and ethics will we sidestep? How much of it will be the voice of Elizabeth Weir?

I can't just have her arrested. My word against hers, and her standing here is greater than my own standing. How can she be convinced to step down, and is it really best for Atlantis?

I'm asking myself all these questions, and would love some answers. I'm answering myself as best I can.

Sitting down on my bed, I do the only thing that comes to mind: Closing my eyes, I hug my pillow.

The End


End file.
